


the squishy fic

by tolvsmol



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Summer Camp, just two silly boys in with crushes thats all thanks for ur time, theyre counselors but it doesn't really matter that much, this is essentially almost all fluff i think and very self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-15 00:53:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11795040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tolvsmol/pseuds/tolvsmol
Summary: au where harry sends a drunken text, louis calls him squishy, and they go to a wedding.





	the squishy fic

**Author's Note:**

> saw this post and got inspired. yes the title really is the squishy fic.
> 
> leave a kudos & comment, come say hi on my tumblr, rosesau !

The neon green numbers of the digital clock that serves essentially no purpose whatsoever reads 1:53 a.m. when Louis rolls over for the millionth fucking time in, like, seven minutes. He’s got a headache from hell that isn’t letting him sleep, despite him having taken two paracetamols before he laid down. He’s tired, is the thing, and also really fucking sleepy, but his head is pounding like a fucking drumkit and every time he thinks he can get a few minutes of shuteye, he’s proven wrong.

At 2:03 a.m., Louis rolls out of bed and hops in the shower because a few clicks on his phone tell him that it’s twenty-bloody-five degrees outside, so no wonder he’s fucking melting from the inside out. The icy spray of the water stings his skin for exactly one second and then it’s utter bliss. Louis stands there, eyes closed and head thrown back, welcoming the cold water on his face. He considers taking a bath, and, yes, he’s aware that it’s shit o’clock in the morning, and, yes, he knows he has to be up and ready in exactly six hours, but, honestly, when has Louis ever been sensible a day in his life? Never, is when.

So, naturally, Louis lets the tub fill with ice cold water. Meanwhile, he wraps a towel around himself and shuffles to the kitchen, filling up the kettle and setting it atop the stove for a cuppa. Is it a good idea at this time? No, probably not, but again, he has absolutely no impulse control whatsoever. While the water boils, Louis goes back to his room and grabs his phone, taps away until the sound of Green Day fills his flat, and returns to the kitchen. It’s all such muscle memory at this point; water, tea, milk. Fuck sugar and its tendency to ruin otherwise perfect beverages. He places the mug in a saucer and carries it (and his phone) to the bathroom, where he sets the mug on the edge of the tub his phone on the floor. He knows better than to test fate.

Louis steps out of the towel and steps into the tub, resting his back against the cool tiles. After a minute’s contemplation, he reaches up to grabs a peach colored bottle and pours a generous amount into the water, watching as bubbles pop up around him. This is good, yes, this is what he needs. Louis strains his arm to place the bottle back before reaching for his mug, which is still steaming, just a little. Oh well. He can’t have everything he wants always – not that he gets it all that often, but that’s neither here nor there. Right now, what’s here is Louis’ terrible headache and the knowledge that he has to go in to work in less than five hours. Does that seem likely at this moment in time? No, no it does not, but Louis can’t take a day off with such little notice and the kids won’t be too happy with him if he does. It’s a Friday, is what it is, and Friday means an extra hour of children swimming and Louis watching over them, teaching them how to properly do certain strokes. If this fucking headache persists, it’ll mean a very unpleasant day for Louis.

His phone pings quietly on the floor and Louis’ first thought is, _stop bothering me while I’m listening to music._ His second thought is, _who the fuck is awake enough at this time to text??_ Nevertheless, he sets his mug down carefully and picks up his phone, which is still lit up from a new text. The notification tells Louis the text is from someone named _Harry (new counselor),_ and leaves him even more baffled. Why would Harry (new counselor) be texting him at this ungodly hour? They only met at orientation and haven’t had a chance to really get to know each other since then. He unlocks the phone without reading the text and, before opening the newest conversation, sends a text to Niall:

**PLEase be my plus one !!!!!!!! i’ll buy drinks for a month !!!!!**

Is Louis begging his stubborn best mate to be his date to a wedding? Yes, he is, because he’s lost just about every ounce of dignity, it seems, as well as any charm he might have possessed at some point in time. In any case, that’s a can of worms for later in the day, maybe week. Louis clicks on the unread text from Harry (new counselor) and feels his headache turn into an aneurysm because, fuck, he’s confused.

 ** _hello squishy hope ur doing well on this godforsaken day,_** is what the text reads. It’s 2:28 in the bloody morning and new counselor boy with his dimply smile is calling Louis ‘squishy.’ What the fuck?

 **i’m sorry who’s squishy,** Louis writes back, and watches as the three little dots pop up immediately. He’s confused, and maybe he’s a little curious, too, because who in the world texts someone something like that at _two in the morning?_ He gets two texts almost simultaneously, and Louis can feel his eyebrows knit together.

**_wrong number sorry hope youre doing awful._ **

**_have a terrible day bye_ **

And, okay, so, maybe Harry (new counselor) isn’t having a fantastic time right about now, but fuck him, too, he doesn’t need to be so bloody rude. Louis’ fingers hover over the keyboard, torn between wanting to teach the kid some manners and wishing him a better night. He pulls his bottom lip between his tongue; his mum always told him to be kind, but he never could bite his tongue. So, in the end, he simply sends an ‘okay,’ and leaves it at that. He doesn’t get any more texts, from Harry (new counselor) or Niall, which is just as well. He can go back to his tea in peace and let the cool water relax him and, perhaps, say goodbye to the throbbing in his head. Hopefully.

(What happens in this: Louis only drinks half of his tea before he nods off sitting against the wall in his bathtub.)

*

Louis is, decidedly, not in the most amiable mood. He woke up looking like a giant prune, because, yes, he fell asleep in a fucking bathtub for almost four hours. Only he could manage something like that. Not that it matters, really, because he’ll most likely be in a pool soon enough for hours again, but still, how fucking embarrassing for him to show up to work looking like a dried raisin at barely eight in the morning. He makes breakfast (which isn’t a breakfast at all, just a bowl of dry cereal because there’s no milk in the fridge) and gets dressed in his camp clothes, which consist of a white shirt and red shorts. Then he’s on his way to the park. It’s about a twenty-minute drive from Louis’ apartment, meaning that’s how long it takes him to get there every day, so he gave himself a thirty-five-minute window today, but there’s so much fucking traffic. It’s only Friday, for fuck’s sake – a Friday during summer; the roads should not be this crowded at only 7:30 a.m.

He almost considers skipping his coffee because the parking at Starbucks is fucking full and he _knows_ the line inside will be long, but once again, who the _fuck_ is awake at 7:30 a.m. on a Friday morning during summer? Nonetheless, as it so happens, if Louis wants to not be a little shit to everyone more so than he usually is, he desperately needs coffee. So he pulls into the parking lot, waits almost entire five minutes – yes, he counted – before a middle aged lady vacates her parking spot for Louis to fill. The inside of the shop is an entirely different beast to deal with. The line _literally_ starts at the fucking door. Like, Louis is _actually_ stood on the fucking threshold waiting in line because there are that many goddamned people in this tiny little place just itching for their drug of choice.

And Louis isn’t judgmental, he isn’t, but there’s two small children waiting in line with a woman and, honestly, what’s the point of them being here and taking up space? They’re too young to be consuming caffeine at fucking 7:30 in the bloody morning, or any other time, frankly, and should have waited in the car. But, instead, they’re here, occupying the space that some other grown adult could be using, because there’s two people behind Louis now and they’re quite literally stood outside the shop. Thoroughly irritated, Louis pulls out his phone only to see no new notifications. Well, that’s just perfect. Niall hasn’t responded to Louis’ text, which makes sense, considering he sent it at two in the morning and Niall is most certainly still asleep. The lucky bastard doesn’t need to come in until ten.

The line stirs, Louis huffs and takes a few steps. The children in front of him are playing some sort of complicated ritualistic game by slapping and twisting each other’s hands. The woman pays them no mind.

Louis is opening the Facebook app to scroll through his feed and see what cringe worthy content the old folks have posted this time around, but a new text notification pops up at the top of the screen. It’s from Harry (new counselor), and it reads, **_so sorry about last night mate, meant to text someone else_ ** , and it’s so unexpected, because, honestly, Louis was so sure that conversation was over. He doesn’t know what he’s meant to say now. So what if the kid meant to text someone else? He still texted _Louis_ at 2:28 a.m. and was rude to _Louis_ at 2:28 a.m., so, really, it doesn’t matter that he meant to text someone else because in the end he called _Louis_ squishy – which is still bloody weird, by the way.

He ends up texting back, **pay more attention to ur contacts next time , cheers** , and that’s that.

When it’s _finally_ almost Louis’ turn to order, he learns that the barista is absolutely, utterly incompetent. Usually, Louis isn’t one to get his knickers in a twist over some teenager working because, hey, he’s been there, and it’s a shit gig, but his patience has run dry. He _needs_ to get the fuck out of this dingy little brown hell and he _needs_ to get to the park so he can get started on going over every attendance list and making sure the schedules are in order and do everything else his job requires. So when the lady in front of him is finished ordering – a tall iced skinny cinnamon dolce latte with a pinch of soy, a tall iced pumpkin spice latte (with extra whipped cream, please), and a venti midnight mint mocha frappuccino (with nonfat milk, thank you) – Louis makes it quick for the fumbling youth and orders a tall iced coffee. No unnecessary theatrics from Louis, thank you very much.

After he’s paid for his overpriced drink, Louis gets the hell out of the shop and makes a beeline for his car, hoping to all fuck that the traffic situation will be a bit better the rest of the way. Spoiler alert: it isn’t. Louis arrives at the park almost ten whole minutes later than he usually does, which is just peachy, considering it’s the end of the week – and this session – and he has a shit ton of paperwork to sort through before the little ones arrive. So he busies himself in the office immediately – checking his email for any new registrations, printing new attendance forms and schedules for the day, texting the four counselors that are meant to pick up the kids today. It’s a hectic job, being the head counselor of a summer camp. The others just show up an hour before the bus arrives to take them to fetch the kids, but Louis has to get in at the ass crack of dawn to get everything else in order. Keeping track of allergies and special instructions and everything else is a lot of responsibility, as is being responsible for more than fifty children every day, but Louis wouldn’t trade it for the world. It’s the best feeling in the world, seeing them smile bright when Louis greets them and makes them laugh, makes them feel accomplished every day they come here. Sure, they give him a headache by the end of most days, but it’s worth their bubbly laughs, at least, at the time it is. When Louis gets home, it becomes another story.

Almost two hours later, Louis is setting aside today’s attendance list for Niall when they walk in, Niall and Liam that is. Niall looks, well, he looks like he always does – aviators sat atop his stylishly messy blond hair, cheeks pink from the heat outside, mouth curled up in a perpetual grin. He looks like the human embodiment of summer, with his golden hair and red shorts and sunny, boisterous personality. And Liam, well, Liam might be wearing the same attire as Niall, but he is nowhere near as exuberant as the Irishman, what with his knitted brows and drooping shoulders. Unlike Niall, Liam’s sunglasses hide his eyes and Louis can’t help but snicker quietly.

“Had fun last night, boys?” Louis asks through a sip of his coffee that’s almost finished now.

“Liam sure did,” Niall takes the liberty to say on Liam’s behalf. The thing is, Niall is a loud, loud, loud person at this time of day and Louis does not appreciate it, not one bit. Niall, however, has no understand of reasonable inside volume and everything that comes out of his mouth sounds as though it’s spoken through a bloody megaphone. “Got absolutely plastered and ended giving at least four people a lap dance. Tragic ya missed it, really.” He claps Liam on the back, who shrugs Niall off rather roughly, and if Louis could see his eyes, he’s sure he’d find a deadly glare.

“Told you not to go,” Louis shakes his head. Really, he did warn them. It was a freaking bachelor’s party, of course, Liam ended up wasted. The only reason Niall is looking lively is because Louis knows the man has an ungodly tolerance. Liam, on the other hand, does not, and it’s obvious now. Louis takes a few steps to where Liam’s plopped down on the small couch and sniffs. Phew. “At least, you don’t reek.”

“Mate, m’ head is killing me,” he moans, “how am I meant to giggle for, like, six hours?”

“Not my problem.” Louis raises his hands as he backs up, eyebrows raised at his friend. “Take a pill, hammer the pain away, I don’t care, but you are going to giggle with the little ones like you do every day. You won’t be slacking off, not on my watch.”

“Lou, Harry’s probably also in the same boat,” Niall interjects. Louis stares, more than a little confused, because what the fuck does Harry have to do with any of this? Who is this kid, anyway, popping up in Louis’ life all of a sudden? “The newbie, Louis, keep up. I set him up on a blind date last night, just as a joke, and, uh, I think it _really_ went south.” At least, Niall has the decency to look a little embarrassed. Not a lot, but, it’s something.

“Why would you do that?” Really, it’s a stupid question because Niall doesn’t need any reason to do stupid things. He just does them. Once, on April fool’s, he covered Louis’ toilet with film – only to forget about it and ended up going for a wee himself. Needless to say, it didn’t end well for him. So, anyway, Niall is stupid and does stupid things all the time. But doing stupid things to newbies? That’s just cruel, even by Louis’ standards.

“I thought it’d be fun,” Niall says defensively, then casts a glance at Liam, who’s curled up in a literal ball on the sofa. “Apparently not.”

Louis clears his throat pointedly. “Speaking of dates,” he looks at Niall expectantly, “will you _please_ go with me to the wedding, Ni, come on.”

“Nope, sorry. Got grand plans to do absolutely nothing that day with my girl,” Niall responds with casual finality, his eyes suddenly all soft and fond at the thought of his girl. Yes, his girl, Angie – the giant golden dog that cuddles him to sleep every night. She’s more important than Louis.

“You see her literally every bloody day, Niall,” Louis protests. He’s proper whining now, he’s aware, but, as established, he’s got no dignity left. No harm in groveling in front of his friend, none at all, except for the part where Niall gets the idea that Louis is absolutely tragically single, so single that he has to beg Niall to be his plus one. “Do this one thing for me.”

“Sorry, Lou, been planning this for ages,” Niall shrugs, not looking the least bit apologetic. He plops his arse down on the sofa, pulls Liam’s head onto his lap, and massages his fingers through his hair. It’s endearing, just like most things about Niall when he isn’t being a massive twat, and Louis just shakes his head.

“The bus’ll be here soon, you haven’t got time to sit and play nurse.”

“Harry and Lauren aren’t even here, yet, Lou, calm down.”

“I am calm.”

“Is that why you’re being a royal git?”

“No, it’s because you won’t go on a date with me, dearest Nialler.” Louis flashes him a smile that’s entirely fake, sticking up his middle finger, as well. “I’ll give you two some privacy, be outside in ten minutes.”

Louis leaves the two of them be and makes his way across the park to where the bus will pick them up. The maintenance staff is here, bless them all, and Louis says his hellos to them all when he passes them by. He sees Lauren, too, who’s also carrying a Starbucks cup and on the way to the office to drop off her belongings. Louis gets outside and drops down on the curb, which is, well, not the greatest idea, because it burns his bum, but Louis stays put. He isn’t going to _stand_ here and wait for the bus. Louis pulls out his phone and sends a text to his sister, whom he hasn’t spoken to in more than a week, he thinks. It’s what happens when you live an ocean away from your family.

There’s the telltale sound of approaching footsteps and Louis looks up to find the new counselor walking over, a dopey dimply smile on his face. It’s his first proper day, because Sarah left yesterday to go on a cruise and now Harry’s going to be taking her place. He’s dressed like the rest of them in a white shirt and red shorts, his hair held back from his face with dark glasses and an identical pair covers his eyes. He sits down next to Louis, or, well tries to sit down, but his unproportionately long limbs betray him and he almost topples onto Louis.

“Oops,” he giggles into his palm.

“Hi,” Louis responds, a wary. “Still drunk, pal? Need to sleep it off?” He’s joking, of course; he doesn’t have anyone else that can work in place of these drunk hooligans.

“Nope,” Harry shakes his head, the grin still in place. “Not drunk. Just clumsy. One of my legs is longer than the other.”

And Louis doesn’t mean to, but a laugh escapes his lips at those words. Who says that? _Who_ starts off a conversation by telling a stranger their legs are mismatched sizes? Harry puts his head between his knees and grips it with both hands and Louis stops laughing. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry responds, and he sounds fine, but Louis isn’t entirely convinced. “Just a little headache. Should be gone in a bit.”

“Is that why you were in such a shit mood last night? At half past two?”

Harry’s head shoots up and he visibly winces. “Shit, sorry, forgot that was you. Sorry about that.” He rubs his temples. “I, uh, I was kinda drunk and meant to text Niall.” He takes the glasses off of his nose and the heels of his palms into his eyes, looking positively shit. “He set me up with a total disaster last night.”

“Your fault for trusting Niall with date planning.” Louis feels sorry for the kid, now that he has an idea of what happened last night, but it isn’t enough to keep him from being a shithead. No one should trust with dictating their love life; the man sets aside days to spend with only his dog, for fuck’s sake.

“You do it next time, then,” Harry says without missing a beat, face still hidden behind his hands.

“Sorry?”

“Plan my next date,” Harry says again calmly and finally looks at Louis and Louis’ breath catches in his throat. Harry’s eyes are – they’re rimmed with pink but, god, they’re _green_ and they’re beautiful, so light and clear, and Louis thinks he’s transfixed, and he’s shit at poetry or whatever, but he thinks he could get lost in those eyes forever. “Know of anyone looking for a single twenty-one years old English kid? Preferably male, please.”

“Me,” Louis blurts out, because he’s an absolute fucking moron and he’s almost really fucking desperate right now, and Harry might be a blessing in disguise, and Louis is still a fucking idiot.

“Excuse me?” is what Harry splutters, a rosy blush coloring his ivory skin.

“I mean,” Louis tries to backtrack, tries to sound less eager. (The bus is pulling in now and the other three are nowhere to be see and Louis is going to have to yell.) “I have a wedding to attend next week, and I need a plus one, but as it so happens, no one finds me charming enough to tag along. Sad, innit?”

“You want me to go to a _wedding_ with you?” Harry asks, brows high and lips parted.

“You can go to a wedding, no?”

“No, I mean, yes, I can, it’s just – you’re sure you wouldn’t rather have a friend?”

Speaking of friends, Louis can see them running over out of his periphery, and he turns around to shout, _“come on, people, move it!”_ before turning back to Harry. “Let’s see. Niall has a date with his dog, Liam has a date with his boyfriend, said boyfriend happens to be my other friend and he has a date with Liam, which leaves me friendless _and_ dateless. You in or out?”

“In,” Harry says as he gets to his feet and then holds out a hand for Louis. “But only if you make me dinner first because ’m sick of cooking for myself.”

This time Louis laughs unabashedly, because, really, there’s nothing funnier that Harry could’ve said. Louis and cooking aren’t a good match, anyone who knows anything about Louis knows this, so hearing Harry demand a homecooked meal from Louis is hysterical. It really is, but even more so is the fact that Louis is actually considering it. Like he can make something, anything, decent without burning his entire kitchen to ash.

“What?” Harry pouts, and, oh, he thinks Louis’ laughing at him. And, well, he is, but not _at_ Harry, not really. Louis shakes his head and lets the matter drop for now because the three delinquents have reached them now.

“Listen up, people,” Louis claps his hands, “Two of you are hungover and two of you look like the fucking sun and all of you are more or less incompetent in some way or another, but listen to me loud and clear. If those kids find out you’re inebriated, I’m going to fire you.” It’s an empty threat, they know it and Louis knows it, because Louis doesn’t have the authority to fire anyone. Should he, considering all that he does for this program? Yes, but that’s a different battle for a different place. Still, both Liam and Harry mumble, _I’m not drunk,_ in unison, and Louis claps his hands twice just to see them wince. “Go get my kids, and do _not_ do anything stupid.”

And then they’re off and Louis is left alone for another fifty minutes. Well, as alone as he can be in a park full of people milling about on a Friday morning. He goes back to the office and settles on the chair to text Harry. He changes the contact name first, though – from _Harry (new counselor)_ to _Squishy Harry._ In hindsight, his rude messages from last night are actually hilarious, considering what Niall put him through. Not that Louis really know what that was, but he intends to find out. Who was the poor blind date that put Harry in such a foul mood? What did they do? Where did they go? So many questions and so little time to get answers and take Harry out before the wedding.

 **What do u wanna eat for dinner?** Why he’s asking, Louis has no idea, because it’s not like he’ll be able to cook whatever Harry demands. The list of things Louis can make without causing severe harm to his kitchen or anyone else includes: tea, ramen noodles, scrambled eggs, and toast. Asking him to cook anything else is a safety hazard, and he knows it, so, really, asking Harry something like this is pointless, but he does it anyway. It’s already been established that Louis isn’t usually a sensible person, so this level of stupidity is no different.  

When Harry’s response comes, though, Louis snorts, because it says: **_roasted duck with pork and lentils_ ** , as if Louis has even the slightest idea about where to get a duck in the first place, let alone know how to roast it.

 **alright cool i’ll order in some pizza,** Louis texts back, **toppings?**

**_I said roasted duck with pork and lentils, what you cant make that?_ **

Louis rolls his eyes even though no one’s around to see him. Maybe Harry really would make for a decent wedding date, no matter that they’re practically strangers. He met Harry just a few days ago, when they were introduced by a member of the town’s recreational services committee. After that, Louis didn’t have a chance to spend any quality time with Harry, not that he really had any reason to, but it was mainly because Harry was busy shadowing Sarah to get an idea of how to do things when he would have to step in for her – which would be starting today.  Now that Louis thinks about it, Harry always seemed to be in a good mood when Louis saw him throughout the day here and there, laughing and giggling with the kids, talking to them animatedly and never once did Louis see him without a smile on his face.

**oh I’ll make u a meal u won’t ever forget squishy**

Will he? That’s really fucking doubtful, but Harry doesn’t know that. Louis can just ask the lovely old lady, Eden, who lives next door to make something special, and he’ll pay her for the trouble. Or he can just order something from the restaurant before Harry even gets to Louis’ place and no one will know anything.

**_heyyyyy I’m NOT squishy that was a drnken mistake_ **

**whatever u say squishy**

**_:(_ **

**:D**

*

The day passes in a bit of a blur, just like these days always do. The kids arrive in a frenzy, all of them hyped up to get into the pool, some of them making a beeline for the arts and crafts station first. Louis greets them all when they get off the bus, giving each one a high five and getting big, goofy grins in returns.

“Guess what, guess what, Louis?” little Jeremiah asks later when they’re in the shallow part of the pool, his dirty blond hair held back in a long ponytail. He’s about six years old, if Louis remembers correctly, he’s the most adorable little shit in the world. “The eggs broke today and the caterpillar is, like, really small and really dark and Mrs. Freedman said it’s gonna be a butterfly soon.” The thing is, Jeremiah can’t say his _r’s_ properly, so almost every word in the sentence sounds cuter than it has any right to and Louis so fucking endeared.

“Ooh, you’re gonna have to draw it for me,” Louis enthuses, genuinely excited. Most of these kids go to an academic summer program before coming here, Jeremiah being one of them, and Louis usually gets new stories every day. He listens to them all chatter amongst themselves and to Niall and Harry, one eye on the kids in the pool and one on the little ones across the small patch of grass with Lauren, making some silly art project with small craft sticks.

Little fingers tug at Louis’ wrist and he finds teeny tiny Alice staring up at him, specks of glitter on her face from earlier. “Will you be here for the last session?”

“Yes, ma’am. Will _you_ be here for the last session?”

“Yeah, my dad signed me up for the last session, so I’m gonna come back after the next one.” She’s twirling around in the shallow water – well, shallow for Louis, as it comes up to Alice’s waist – and then she’s being dragged away by Clara. On the other end, Louis can see Niall helping Audrey and Emily. Liam is watching, his sunglasses gone finally, and he’s just watching everyone, but he’s still smiling a little. Harry’s “swimming” with five years old Leigh, pulling her forward by her tiny hands. When he catches Louis’ eye, Louis winks and mouths, _good job, squishy,_ and Harry discreetly flips him off. Louis laughs.

*

Later, after the children have been dropped back off and the four counselors are back, and Louis has given each of them a schedule of the next session, he finds Harry walking towards a navy-blue car that looks like it won’t be around for much longer. “So, were you serious about that dinner or just playing hard to get?”

There’s a dimply smirk on Harry’s face that shouldn’t look as sexy as it does on his cherub-like face because, let’s face it, dimples shouldn’t be _sexy._ But this one is and Louis feels like he’s been cheated out of something for a long time, but he doesn’t know how. “I didn’t realize I was something you’re trying to get,” Harry quips with a quirk of his brow, smirk melting into a playful smile.

“Oh, bugger off,” Louis groans, almost dramatically, because this absolute menace of a human being isn’t what he signed up for. “Go home, then, and cook for yourself. I’ll be ordering myself a nice, fresh pizza.” Louis gives a careless shrug and turns his back to Harry, pretending to walk towards his car, which is actually parked two spaces away from Harry’s, but, oh well. He has a flare for drama, sue him.

Then there’s a hand on his elbow, fingers gently digging into his skin, and he’s being spun around to face Harry again. The bastard has the nerve to look smug, like he knows just who to do to get Louis to do whatever he wants. “Sorry, sorry, I definitely don’t wanna cook for myself, and I’m also very definitely sick of Dominos. Dine me?”

Louis pretends to think. Really, he doesn’t mind if Harry comes over and eats his food, not at all, it’s just that Louis doesn’t have any fucking food in the fridge. Nothing that qualifies as date food, anyway. But Harry is looking at him with those big green eyes, all clear and hopeful, bottom lip pulled between his teeth, and Louis has no idea what to say, except, “You can come by my place at six, I’ll fix something by then.” How, he has no fucking clue, because he has never “fixed” anything for anyone before, so, really, he just signed himself for a real disaster.

“Text me your address?”

“Nah,” Louis guffaws, unable to resist the urge to roll his eyes, “just ask some passerby where Louis Tomlinson lives until you find it.” He ruffles Harry’s luscious hair and gently nudges him toward the heap of metal he calls a car. “Course, I’ll text you the address, you fool. Now go, I have preparations to take care of.”

Those dimples are so deep, so inviting, and it’s not to lean in and kiss them, trace his thumb over them when Harry grins and says, “See you later, Lou,” but Louis stands his ground. He may have no dignity left, but he does have a sense of personal space and knows there are certain boundaries he can’t cross – kissing someone who is, more or less, a stranger happens to be one of those boundaries. Louis wasn’t raised by wolves, thank you very much. But if he discreetly ogles Harry’s arse when Harry gets in his car, then, well. No one can prove anything.

Instead of rushing home to fix up dinner, Louis heads to the grocery store. It’s almost five o’clock now, which is not good, so when Louis texts Harry his address, he also tells him to come around at seven. That should give Louis enough time to _almost_ have food ready for Harry and tidy up the place a bit. He isn’t really accustomed to guests that aren’t his friends – namely Niall and Liam and Zayn, and sometimes Perrie and Bebe – but they’re not even considered guests, not really. They just come uninvited sometimes and bum around for a bit before either crashing on the floor and the sofa or leaving. Anyway. It’s a Friday evening and Louis is stuck in traffic _again_ because, apparently, that’s just his life now. How wonderful.

Doing the actual shopping is an ordeal, to be quite fucking frank, and Louis might as well just admit to a bystander that he can’t tell apart peppers from jalapeños. But he stands in the produce aisle and he pulls up various recipes on google until he finds one that seems somewhat manageable – with Eden’s help – and then he gets to work. It should be illegal to have more than five kinds of meat in the freezer, honestly, because picking out the one he needs is a task and a half. It takes him almost half an hour to fill his cart with the chicken and tomatoes and mozzarella and everything else he needs. By the time Louis is done and stood in line to pay, he’d very much just like to flop down on his bed and sleep for the next week or so, maybe until the wedding has passed so he doesn’t have to go.

Back at the flat, Louis takes a quick shower (it’s not really a shower, he literally just steps in and out of the spray to get the pool scent off of him) and then wanders barefoot next door. He knocks and only has to wait a few moments before the door is opened for him and he comes face to face with his lovely neighbor.

“Afternoon, Eden,” he greets her with a warm smile and kneels down to pet the small dog now orbiting around his feet. Instead of waiting for her to respond (because she’ll just ask him how work was), Louis cuts right to the chase. He’ll end up telling her about work, anyway, when he explains everything. “I’m in desperate need of your culinary skills, ma’am. See, I invited a very lovely boy over for dinner, but as we both know, I can’t cook for shit, and I’d be oh so grateful if you would help me impress him.” He’s laying it on a bit thick, he knows, but he also knows that Eden knows he can a little over the top sometimes, so it’s not an issue. It’s not like she doesn’t put on a show at times and fondly grumble about her wife, Gloria, and the odd hours she has to work. They have a good camaraderie, Louis and Eden.

So that’s how Louis ends up with his middle-aged neighbor in his kitchen, the both of them working side by side. Well, Eden’s working, and Louis is just trying to follow the simple instructions she gives him – like preheating the oven, cutting the mozzarella, combining all the ingredients for the sauce and in a saucepan and cooking it for three minutes. It’s more than anything Louis’ ever done for a meal before, even though Eden does all the hard work, but still. He tries, and that’s what counts. Harry had better be appreciative of all the effort Louis is putting in, otherwise they’re through. He cleans, too, damn it. There’s empty tea cups and coffee mugs all over the place, dirty plates and bowls and spoons, all of which Louis washes while he chatters away with Eden, who seems to be enjoying this rather too much.

“He’s just a boy, isn’t he,” she comments with a not so subtle curve of her mouth, “not your queen coming for a holiday. Think he won’t mind a few dirty dishes.”

“Don’t know,” Louis responds distractedly, “could be related to the queen. Could be an FBI agent. Could be anyone, Eden, I can’t take me chances. I’ve gotta charm his pants off if I want him to go to the wedding with me.”

“And why do you want him to go to the wedding with you?”

“Besides the fact that we’d look really bloody good together? I don’t have anyone else who’d go with me.” There’s pointed silence from Eden, and Louis looks over his shoulder to find her staring at him with this _look,_ eyebrows raised expectantly, a little affronted, and, oh. It’s too late to stop the loud snort that just escaped Louis. “Shit, sorry,” he giggles and bites his lip to hold back his laughter, “sorry, I’m gonna – I’ll cancel as soon as he gets here, of course, you and I would look much better together. I’m a git for not thinking of that earlier.”

She tsks, eyes narrowed, and shakes her head disappointedly, and says, “No, Louis, don’t be an asshole to the poor boy. Just name your firstborn after me and we’ll be even.”

“What if my firstborn is a boy?” Louis plays along, drying his hands with a green towelette. “What if Harry doesn’t even want children? How will I pay you back for this?”

“You’ll think of something, Tomlinson, but I want full payment for this.” She gestures at Louis, at his mess of a head, and says, “Go make yourself presentable, this is almost finished. And put on a shirt that does _not_ have holes in it. Do you own something like that, or do I need to sort through Gloria’s wardrobe?” because, of course, Eden wouldn’t give Louis her own clothes. She knows him better than to make that mistake.

Louis leaves her in the kitchen and practically skips to his bedroom, rifling through his pile of clothes until he finds a pair of black jeans that are tastefully ripped at the knees and a white shirt with red sleeves. His hair is… well, it needs a bit of work. Louis brushes it, runs his fingers through it, pushes it this way and that, uses some hairspray (just a little bit), and gives his reflection a nod in the mirror. After contemplating it for a moment, he even puts on a pair of socks. There. He’s immaculate. Little squishy won’t know what hit him. By the time he makes it back to the kitchen, it’s nearing 6:45 and Eden has already set the small dining table, a single candle lit in the middle. Louis doesn’t even fucking own candles, but he doesn’t ask where she got it from. He knows there’s no shortage of them in Eden and Gloria’s flat.

“Thank you _soooo_ much,” Louis tells Eden sincerely and pulls her in for a tight hug. “If the firstborn isn’t named after you, I promise to catsit for a month, so you and Gloria can have some quality time without your child watching.”

Eden slaps the back of his head, but she’s laughing, and that’s really all that counts. “Don’t cock this up, okay. I want a full detailed rundown of this dinner later.” She steps back from him and looks him up and down, hands darting to his hair, and Louis jumps about five feet back.

“Nope, nope, you’re not touching that.”

“Why is it,” Eden sighs, “that all you lot insist on walking around with a bird’s nest on your head. Fix that monstrosity.”

“It’s fine the way it is, _Mum.”_ He holds his hands in front of his head, a makeshift shield from any prying hands of a certain five foot tall woman. “You can kindly leave now, thank you. I’ll come over after he’s left and we can gossip together.”

“Using my services and kicking me out, how unkind. I’ll be having a word with your mother, Louis Tomlinson.” There’s no bite in her words, just a warm light in her eyes and Louis leads her to the door. He opens it to usher her out, only to find Harry stood outside, fist raised like he was about to knock. He smiles when he sees Louis, his eyes flickering from Louis to Eden curiously. “Oh, look,” Eden chirps, giving Louis’ arm a squeeze, “it’s prince charming.”

Louis knows she’s trying to embarrass him, just like she successfully has one a couple of past dates, but this time he won’t have it. “Actually, his name is Squishy,” he mock-whispers in her ear, but, of course, it’s not a whisper at all, and Harry hears him perfectly fine.

“It’s really not,” Harry mumbles, fumbling with his hands, his creamy cheeks flushed pink, and he looks so, so lovely. “Um, I’m Harry. Harry Styles.” He holds out a hand to Eden, who shakes it, a crinkly eyed smile on her face. “It’s nice to meet you...”

“Eden. Call me Eden.” She lets go of Harry to pat Louis on the back. “I look after this one, so I’ll be watching out for you. I don’t want any funny business.” From the way she’s talking to them, people would think they’re teenagers just entering high school, not grown men in their twenties living alone.

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“And you,” she turns on Louis, who feigns innocence, “I want no complaints about you.”

“Tell me one time any of my dates have _ever_ complained about me,” he says indignantly.

“Honey, you don’t go on enough dates for there to be complaints,” she laughs, and winks at Harry like they’re sharing an inside joke, and, okay, that’s enough.

“Alright!” Louis says loudly and pulls Harry in by the wrist while tugging Eden into the hall. “That’s enough from you, now out you go. Your own dwelling awaits you. Go.”

Behind him, he can hear Harry giggling quietly, and Eden is laughing quite shamelessly, but, mercifully, leaves Louis without humiliating him any further, and Louis turns to Harry with a dramatic sigh. “A menace, that one,” he says with a solemn shake of his head.

“She seems lovely,” Harry disagrees, his dopey smile still in place. Louis take a minute to appreciate how _good_ he looks. Gone is the plain white shirt from this morning, replaced with a short-sleeved, almost see-through golden floral buttondown. Actually, scratch that, it _is_ see-through, because Louis can easily make out the tattoos littered all over Harry’s torso – two birds, a fucking butterfly, laurels, and a whole bunch more on his arm. Louis needs a minute to breathe. And the damn thing isn’t even buttoned all the way – his chest is practically exposed, a cross necklace hanging from his neck, and his collarbones look spectacular and Louis doesn’t know if he’ll be able to make it through the night without tracing them with his lips.

“You look lovely,” he tells Harry, having forgotten what Harry said to him a moment ago. He feels a bit dressed down, taking in Harry’s golden boots and fancy shirt. “Should’ve told me this would be a fancy schmancy date, I would’ve put on me best suit.”

“You look great,” Harry smiles, “the red brings out your eyes.”

“Please, squishy,” Louis scoffs, “red does not bring out blue, but thanks, anyway. Come on.” He ignores Harry’s protests at the name and shuts the door behind them before leading Harry to the little dining table in the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” Harry breathes.

And, of course, there’s a nervous flutter in Louis’ chest because he’s never done something like this before. Going out to eat with someone is one thing, but making an intimate dinner for them with a fucking candle in between is an entirely different deal. “Now, I’m no chef, which I probably should’ve told you earlier, but Eden helped with this, so it should be edible. If it’s not, then, well, just lie to me,” he rambles on, something he tends to do when he’s anxious.

There’s a hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, and Louis peers up at Harry (he has another inch or two on Louis with those boots, the absolute bastard) and finds Harry looking at him warmly. “I was joking, Lou,” he murmurs, “about actually wanting you to cook. Like, of course, I wanted dinner with you, but I didn’t mean that you had to go out of your way to make something special. I just wanted to spend some time with you, honestly.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he bites on his bottom lip and Louis’ gaze lingers on the movement, and he wonders what it’d feel like to do that – to capture Harry’s lips between his own teeth. _Focus,_ this isn’t the time to get carried away. “You could’ve served me raw pasta and I would’ve been happy.” Harry steps closer, just a little, his hand sliding down Louis’ back, and, maybe, this _is_ the time, because when Louis presses up on his tiptoes and cranes his neck higher, Harry doesn’t shy away.

“I didn’t wanna serve you raw pasta,” Louis whispers, eyes flicking from Harry’s cherry red lips to his apple green eyes, and his heart feels so light in his chest. There’s only a breath separating their lips and Louis doesn’t like it, not one bit. “If I served you raw pasta, then I would’ve had to eat raw pasta, and I don’t really fancy eating raw pasta after a long day of work.”

“I don’t think it tastes very nice,” Harry’s whispering, too, just barely, and their faces are much too close for Louis to be able to make anything out, so he leans up just a bit and presses their lips together, his heart now beating a little frantically. It’s just a whisper of a kiss, just a brush of lips, but Louis feels Harry start to smile just when he pulls back.

“You taste very nice, though,” Louis says cheekily.

“Here I was under the impression that kisses come at the end of a date, not the beginning of one.” That dimple, _god,_ Louis must have been a fucking saint in a past life to deserve this – this adorable, endearing human being that smells like coconuts and jokes along with Louis and lets Louis kiss him.

“You might get one at the end, too,” Louis presses another small kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth, which gets him another twinkly smile, and Louis grins back at him. “Come on, squish, I’m gonna wine and dine you and take you to that bloody wedding.”  

“Keep calling me that and there will be no wedding date for you.”

“Hmm, okay, then,” Louis says pleasantly and steps away from Harry, “no Tommo kisses for you, then.”

Just like earlier today, Harry’s fingers wrap around Louis’ elbow and tug him back into Harry’s chest, a laugh bubbling out of his pretty lips. “That’s okay, I’m just here for the delicious food.”

“Gobble up and then be on your way, darling,” Louis gives him an exuberant smile, one he hopes is entirely too fake in its sincerity, but he’s sure it isn’t. He’s sure he’s glowing like the fucking sun, if the way Harry’s beaming back at him is anything to go by. “The sooner you get out of my house, the sooner I get to bitch about you to the lovely Eden.”

“You’re adorable, you know, you’re really bloody fucking adorable.”

“Oh, piss off.”

They’re all bark and no bite, Louis knows, but he likes it this way. After a few more digs at one another, they’re seated at Louis’ tiny dining table, enjoying the best Louis’ ever made. (He made it, all right. He helped a lot, more than any other time, so it counts. He made the damn dish.) Harry tells him no one’s ever cooked for him before, not like this, not on a date, and Louis feels accomplished. Really, the goal of tonight was to feed Harry and convince him to go to the wedding with Louis, which he’s certain he has achieved. It’s a proper first date kind of dinner, if Louis’ being honest, and it’s all thanks to Eden’s bloody candle. It just adds a bit of intimacy to the scene.

Louis learns that Harry’s staying the summer with his sister, who’s getting married in four months, and he goes to university in New York. He’s spending some time with Gemma to help with the wedding planning a bit, and applied to be a counselor because he had nothing else to do to kill time. Last night he found himself on a blind date with a guy named Tom, which in and of itself doesn’t mean anything to Louis, but then Harry tells him how the date went horribly wrong.

“See, I don’t really know anyone, so I trusted Niall, which was a big mistake, clearly,” Harry takes his time talking, what with the way he’s scarfing down the chicken, “I’m sat there at the pub, telling joke after joke, and the guy wasn’t laughing at anything I said, and only, like, and hour later did he tell me his friends were taking the piss at his bachelor’s party and wanted one more laugh while he could still do it. So, naturally, I got sloshed afterwards, and tried texting Niall when I was home, but, well. You know what happened.”

“Let’s see if I’ve got this right.” Louis leans forward, elbows resting on the tabletop because etiquette be damned when he’s listening to his soap opera. “You went on a date with a bloke called Tom, who was enjoying his bachelor’s party at your expense?” Harry nods. “I happen to be going to a wedding on Sunday, to which you will be accompanying me, and the groom just happens to be named Tom. Same Tom who happens to be fairly well acquainted with Niall. Is that a coincidence, Harry Styles?”

Harry stares at Louis, his jaw slack, until Louis bursts out laughing at this incredible turn of events and Harry blushes crimson. “I’m never speaking to Niall ever again.”

All in all, it’s a great first date. Harry sneaks in a goodbye kiss (it’s not like Louis puts up a fight) and they both knock on Eden’s front door to tell her goodnight. Harry promises to go to the wedding with Louis – but only because the food was so delightful.

*

The wedding is, well, let’s just say that Harry Styles is a man who knows how to hold a grudge. When Louis pulls up in front of Harry’s sister’s house to pick him up, Harry opens the door wearing a red floral suit with a black dress shirt, and Louis – Louis is so fucking endeared and a bit scandalized that he can’t help but bury his face in Harry’s neck and laugh until he cries.

“You’re really going to steal the man’s thunder on his wedding day, H? Really?”

“He shouldn’t have played me like a fool,” is what responds with in Louis’ ear, arms slung loosely around Louis’ waist. “He’s not gonna know what hit him, all thanks to you. My knight in shining armor.”

“Maybe there’s a reason you weren’t invited, love.”

“Too bad. I’m going anyway, and he can watch me brighten up the damn place while he wears his boring black tux.”

Louis’ got tears in his eyes, he really does, but he’s a little personally offended by Harry’s word choice. He leans back in Harry’s back, glancing down at his own black suit, and says, “Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

“Nope. You look gorgeous, as usual.” And Louis is hopeless. Really, he’s so fucking gone for this kid, it would be a little pathetic if Louis had any dignity left. As established earlier, he does not.  

So off they go to the wedding, where Harry stands out like a bloody peacock, and when they congratulate the couple, it’s fucking comical to Louis because Tom bursts out laughing, pulling Harry in a loud hug with lots of claps on the shoulder, and Harry tells the bride all about her newlywed husband’s rendezvous two nights ago.

(Harry also somehow manages to catch the bouquet, his eyes glinting with mirth when they find Louis’, and Louis has to roll his eyes to mask the flutter in his heart. “You have a _long_ way before you get there, pal,” Louis whispers into his lips.

“I’ll wait,” Harry promises, mouth stretching into a smile.

“You’re gonna be waiting a long, long time, squishy.”

“That’s okay. I’m very patient… little Lou.”

Louis is appalled. And so, so smitten.)

**Author's Note:**

> [fic post is here if you would like to reblog!](https://rosesau.tumblr.com/post/165138344256/the-squishy-fic-by-tolvsmol-main-pairing-harry)


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